


Summers

by 200and21bees



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Inspired by Music, John Watson's Childhood, M/M, Songfic, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 19:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200and21bees/pseuds/200and21bees
Summary: A weird snippet from John's childhood and some johnlock domestic fluff.





	Summers

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like a year ago and thought it was a lil bit weird, so only edited and posted this now. Also, this was inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xg6e1U7xh1o) song, I recommend listening to it too!

 

 

 

_Train set and match spied under the blind_

_Shiny and contoured the railway winds_

_And I've heard the sound from my cousin's bed_

_The hiss of the train at the railway head_

 

John sat on the windowsill, sulking, and watched as the rain washed the street below. Occasionally, the strong wind would bring a fresh wave of rainwater right in through the open window and onto John's face. 

 

Yesterday had been sunny, still full of summer, but today the blonde boy had woken up to the sound of heavy rain pounding on the south-facing window. 

 

 Heart sinking, John had jumped out of bed, leaping across the room and yanking the window open to make sure - yes, there was nothing summerlike about the weather anymore. It was the first day of autumn, and as he had smelled the distinct whiff of winter that most people couldn't sense, John had died. 

 

 

_Always the summers are slipping away_

 

 

For as long as John could remember, he had only been truly happy when the grass was green and there was life in the air. When autumn and then winter came, he would hide himself in his room, only coming out when it was time to go to school. 

 

He could always tell the difference between summer rain drop and other drops, he could smell the moment spring died and summer was born. Only then he would greet the world with a wide grin and run out for the first time in months. 

 

Every year, his parents tried to lure him out of his "winter depression", as they called it. They had tried light therapy multiple times, not that I had made any difference.  

 

When John was seven, they had spent a week in Thailand. It had been perfect but returning home - all rain and clouds - quickly killed him again. His parents said it had been expensive and that he had no right to sulk but it had made no difference. 

 

Their plan for this year was revealed a week after summer died. They would spend the winter break in Brighton with John's distant cousin and his family. John had his doubts, he wasn't very close to his relatives and besides, Harry would complain the whole time since her own stupid plans with her friends were cancelled. 

 

True to his words, Vern was an ordinary, boring twelve-year-old, and even though John was a year younger, he felt like he was taking care of a baby. 

 

But Vern had an intense obsession with trains, and sometime during the vacation John found himself almost intrigued by all the things the older boy knew about Eurostar and London underground. Verner had even brought a few miniature models with him and his ringtone was the sound of some old steam engine. 

 

When the break ended and they got back to London, John dug up every book about trains he could find and practically ate them. If his parents thought he was cured, they were very wrong. True, he wasn't the passive, miserable sack lying on the bed he used to be, but he was still feeling dead. 

 

Only now he drowned his sadness and melancholy in reading, at first about trains and then about biology and other subjects. And after spending the winter holed up in his room, desperate, barely eating and sleeping, John would then use the summer to run around and train the rugby tackles he'd read about in a book. 

 

 

 

_A 60 ton angel falls to the earth_

_A pile of old metal, a radiant blur_

_Scars in the country, the summer and her_

 

Years flew by and John found himself first in med school, then graduating and packing his pack for the army. Now he sometimes thought winters were easier, maybe it was just him growing up.

 

But there was something about almost bleeding to death on scorching hot Afghan desert that finally made winters bearable. 

 

He met Sherlock, whose sulks never respected seasonal changes. John settled down – so to speak – and at last spent his years like a completely ordinary person, somehow managing not to shut down completely when the leaves started to fall. 

 

 

 

_Always the summers are slipping away_

_Find me a way for making it stay_

 

 

 

~'*'~ 

 

 

The noise of the passing train occasionally drowned Sherlock's words, and truthfully John thought the git deserved it. They had finished a case about twenty seconds ago, but the brunette was already complaining about how bored he was. 

 

Not that John really wanted to care, his mood too good to be ruined right now. It was the end of summer, the hottest part gone but not yet quite autumn. But the threat of cold winds was there, earlier than last year. And he could tell it would start raining soon, any minute now. The aphids were already seeking refuge in the underside of birch leaves. 

 

He somehow knew this winter would be harder than the last few, but right now he wanted to forget it all. And railway stations always made John happy in a funny way, even though he didn't really remember anything about trains anymore. It was old data anyway. 

 

He stopped grinning at the ground and lifted his gaze when he practically felt Sherlock's eyes on him. 

 

"What?" 

 

"You just said you remember nothing about trains. I didn't know you ever knew about them." The brunette looked around. John felt a funny trickle down his spine. Does he speak aloud a lot like that?

 

"I did? I read about them when I was little, but it was just one winter. Never really returned to them the next winter." 

 

Now he had Sherlock's interest for some reason. They had stopped and stood in the edge of the railways. "Winter? Why winter?" 

 

"I guess I just am more of a summer person, the cold weather just wasn't appealing to me so I used to stay in and read," John swung his hand in the air and shrugged. Sherlock's eyebrows were frowned and his nose crinkled adorably. 

 

"I remember last year you complained about the autumn tainting the air." 

 

"Well it did. And this year it's coming early, I can smell it now." 

 

"You can't _smell_ autumn coming." 

 

"I can too. Come on, it'll start to rain soon."

 

“The sun’s almost out, it’s not going to rain,” Sherlock chuckled and they started towards the station building again. But before they reached it, Sherlock stopped on his tracks as the first light raindrops hit his nose and looked at John with a funny expression, a sort of awe mixed with confusion. Then the skies opened and they were quickly getting soaked. Sherlock looked as if he was trying to say something.

 

Before John could ask though, another train passed them, rattling on, and then Sherlock's mouth was on his. The brunette grasped John's shoulders and just kissed him for a while. John was a little breathy when they pulled apart. 

 

"What was that for?" 

 

Sherlock twisted his hands a bit and blushed lightly. His hair was already wet and sticking to his face. "I... You're just slightly extraordinary sometimes, I didn't... It just came-" 

 

"That's all right." John took Sherlock's hand and turned to go. He felt Sherlock lace their fingers together and smiled. 

 

"I love you too."

 

 

 

_When I hear the engine pass_

_I'm kissing you wide_

_The hissing subsides_

_I'm in luck_

_When the evening reaches here_

_You're tying me up_

_I'm dying of love_

_It's OK_

 


End file.
